


Gold

by gutterandthestars



Series: Post Crusades Pining [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: He needs time, He will not get one, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Needs a Hug, M/M, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutterandthestars/pseuds/gutterandthestars
Summary: Written for the Twelvetide Drabbles Challenge 2020/2021 for the prompt 'Gold' for 5th January 2021.***Joe thinks he's probably, almost certainly, cursed.This is a companion story to 'Silver' and will conclude in the next instalment, 'Rose'.***
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Post Crusades Pining [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093658
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37
Collections: Twelvetide Drabbles 2020





	Gold

Yusuf Al-Kaysani believes himself to be beset by devils who have chosen to curse, of all the things they could have selected to fuck with, his timing. Consider:

He is caught in Al-Quds at the worst of times, takes up a sword and is killed. Bad timing, certainly. Probably evil spirits were involved.

Then he finds himself unable to stay dead. This isn’t bad, as such – at least at first glance – but here, definitively, is the evidence of something supernatural going on. And, since he likes to think himself a good man but is certainly not the only good man slain and left for dead on the battlefield – and yet he _is_ the only defender of the city to revive – he cannot believe his perpetual resurrections to be down to some inherent holiness of character. Devils, then. When it is a man’s time to die, it’s time, and yet for him, it is not. Demons are messing with his timing. 

Further evidence of the notion whatever has taken hold of his fate and chosen to upend it does not wish him well is the vicious Frankish invader who appears to share his curse. It’s a little self-centred, but if the demonic sprits' goals are to screw with Yusuf, their timing is impeccable and his continues to be dreadful. The man gasps his way back to life right in front of Yusuf, just as Yusuf is doing the same. A little earlier, a little later, and one or the other of them would have walked off and never known they shared this impossible, unnatural gift with another. 

Worse, perhaps, is that at some point between their subsequent truce and the moment at which they have agreed to part ways, is that Yusuf finds he _likes_ the man. 

Truly, thinks Yusuf, fuck whatever spirit decided to so spite him. 

It is the night before Nicolò leaves, and Yusuf cannot sleep. This inconvenient Frank is to sail for Genova with the tide, and Yusuf has a family, he too must travel home. And yet, he thinks. Were his timing not so cursed. They might have made it a little longer, to make it possible for Yusuf to offer… what? Companionship? Partnership? He doesn’t know, is the thing. Because he’s not had the time.

At the docks, at dawn, Nicolò clasps Yusuf’s arm before he turns to board the ship, and Yusuf thinks the expression on his Frank’s face looks haunted. Perhaps they are both cursed with terrible timing. 

Nicolò hesitates, then mutters, “I know I cannot stay,” and Yusuf curses his demons in the privacy of his head.

“You cannot stay,” he agrees, nodding. Nicolò must go home, to his family, as he wishes. He certainly cannot stay for Yusuf, when Yusuf does not yet know what reason he might give to persuade him. 

Nicolò swallows, then nods back. “Farewell, then,” he says, and leaves.

Yusuf cannot help himself. “Life is long, my friend,” he calls, as Nicolò reaches the top of the gangplank. “Perhaps, one day, we will meet again, when the time is right.” 

Nicolò turns then, the rising sun catching the ragged edges of his dark hair and setting them aflame with a corona of glowing, blinding gold. He doesn’t respond.

Yusuf watches the ship until that faint golden spark dwindles from sight, and some unformed, too-early-to-name part of his heart departs with it. 

He finds tears prickling his eyes. Whatever force or fate has decided to bedevil the thread of Yusuf’s life, he curses it back a thousandfold.


End file.
